


And A Happy New Year.

by kotabear24



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas sex, Comeplay, M/M, Morning Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 03:57:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1102130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kotabear24/pseuds/kotabear24
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Harry has <i>clearly</i> watched too much <i>Home Alone</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And A Happy New Year.

Louis is hungover. He is hungover and angry, because he should be asleep, and not having thoughts that are too loud, and his world should be blissfully silent. Instead, there is a giant hunk of man-boy weight on his stomach, and –

Alright, well. That’s okay. The man-boy weight can stay there. But the noise? No. 

Louis groans and tries his best to roll over, frowning with his eyes squeezed shut to show his displeasure. Harry says nothing, but rolls his hips just a tiny bit, and Louis is not too hungover to know what’s pressing against his stomach, and he is not too hungover to know that the wet mouth that’s sucking with just the tiniest pressure against his neck and collar bones is one he loves. 

Despite himself, Louis rolls his hips back as best as he can, and the mouth curves into a smile before sucking just as softly, right over his tattoo on his pec. Louis lifts his hands just a bit to rub his fingertips up along the side of Harry’s thighs, finding that there’s nothing covering his skin. 

Harry shifts, just then, moves back so Louis can’t reach his thighs anymore, and Louis feels Harry’s massive hands grip his hips tightly. 

His head spins and he groans a tiny bit when Harry suddenly flips them over, Louis sitting on top of Harry’s upper abdomen, and Harry whispers, “Sorry,” and rubs Louis’ hips with his thumbs in an additional apology. 

Louis opens his eyes and marvels – Harry’s remembered, miraculously, to pull all the curtains shut and there’s not a single light on in the entire story of the house, he’s willing to bet. Harry’s looking up at him, and slowly, his steady gaze transforms as a grin makes its way across his face, stretching it and widening his cheeks until Louis thinks his pretty face might crack a bit under the strain of it. But Harry’s hands are roaming, and eventually they settle on the waistband of Louis’ boxers, pulling down as much as they’ll allow. Louis leans to a side, lifting his leg up awkwardly, and Harry helps him pull his leg out from the offending clothing. Louis leans to the other side and repeats, and Harry’s warm palm drags up his calf, across his thigh, and Louis watches as Harry silently grips his cock – nearly hard completely, by now – and starts sliding his fist up and down, slow enough that the lack of lube doesn’t make a difference. 

Louis braces himself on the bedrails, settling in to watch Harry work with his hands, but his cock is being let go and Harry’s hands slide around to his arse, pulling him in, up, closer to his face. 

Louis’ head pounds a bit, but he’s perfectly content on ignoring it because that warm, wet, gentle mouth that was on his chest is now wrapped like pillows around his cock, sliding slow and wet, sucking just enough to make Louis a bit crazy. 

There’s a tiny flash feeling of teeth, but Louis just shifts a tiny bit, and Harry adjusts well enough when it thrusts Louis’ cock further into his mouth. Louis bites his lip and rolls his hips slowly, and Harry moans a little bit, breathing from the back of his throat, where Louis can hear it loud and clear. He can hear the wet sounds of Harry’s mouth working over him, feeling the contradiction of his wet cock with air hitting it, only to be replaced by more of Harry’s hot mouth. 

Louis’ hips are rolling faster – really, he’s only twenty-five, now; he should have better endurance, but Harry’s mouth has always been like kryptonite – and his hands are gripping the bedrails hard enough to turn his knuckles white. Sounds are escaping Louis, now, not just Harry, who looks thrilled as ever to have a cock between his lips, and Louis knows he’s about to come.

His mouth opens like a gaping fish, his throat not working enough to tell Harry in words that he’s about to lose it, and Harry moans. He pulls off, though, and Louis wants to whine, until Harry’s huge hand is stroking him, fast and steady, a twist at the end and a thumb over his cockhead, and it’s quick work to make Louis come. 

He comes all over Harry’s face, some landing in his hair, one streak over his closed eye, hanging off his eyelashes and a few streaks across his cheek. The way Harry’s mouth is set – a firm line, like he was bracing for the come – makes his dimples stand out, and come pools in his left one, filling it like a miniature lake, and a drop is on his lips, but he doesn’t move to lick it, because he knows how much Louis likes to do it himself.

So Louis moves, once he can, shifts down and kisses the come off Harry’s lips first and foremost. Harry doesn’t move or return the kiss, and Louis smiles because _yes_ that’s how he likes it. He leaves the come in Harry’s curls – they’ll have to shower, anyway, before the lads come over for lunch – but carefully scoops up the come over his eye with his finger, and sucks it into his mouth. Once his eye is clear, Harry looks up at him. He hums when Louis leans down and kisses his cheeks, open-mouthed ones that let his tongue lick up the come, and he sucks the little puddle from Harry’s dimple and marvels in the way it makes Harry’s laugh rumble in his throat, like he’s trying not to make noise. 

Louis kisses him again, and Harry’s hands come up to rub against his back, sweeping up and down. Louis feels Harry’s cock, still hard as a rock, against his hip, and feels Harry rocking against him. 

He moves to take care of it, but Harry keeps him there, where he is, pulling him down for more kisses. When Louis absolutely _needs_ to break apart to breathe, Harry pulls him right back in again, kissing his cheek and whispering in his ear in an American accent, “Merry Christmas, ya filthy animal.”


End file.
